


I Leave (But You Follow)

by ChampionFlyer



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Arguing, Bakery and Coffee Shop, Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Fights, Frustration, Gil Arroyo Acting as Malcolm Bright's Parental Figure, Gil Arroyo Needs a Hug, Good Parent Gil Arroyo, Hurt/Comfort, Making Up, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Minor Violence, Set S1 E18, police standoff, they work it out in the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:54:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24312340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChampionFlyer/pseuds/ChampionFlyer
Summary: Malcolm blames himself for Alonzo's death. He blames himself losing their killer, and Eve leaving him, and everything else that could possibly fall on his shoulders. He blames himself, and Gil knows this.Gil only wishes he didn't shout.Now Bright is wondering Manhattan... with a stolen case file... in the middle of the night...
Relationships: Gil Arroyo & Malcolm Bright
Comments: 8
Kudos: 59





	I Leave (But You Follow)

**Author's Note:**

> This is so shitty... OMG! 
> 
> Anyway, here is the heated argument trope I found on Tumblr, along with a small touch of a Coffee Shop Au. 
> 
> ALSO CAN WE PLEASE TALK ABOUT THE SEASON TWO RENEWAL!!!
> 
> CHRIST!!!

Gil watches from his office window as Bright paces around between his cubical and the interrogation room, anxiously looking over the loose notes from their prior scandal. All he can do is sigh and worry about what’s going on inside the kid’s head. It was a bad day for everyone at the precinct. 

Especially for his team. 

They had nearly their entire station out on patrol after a pleasure killer Malcolm had managed to track down in the Brooklyn area. It was a while until they were able to even get a mark on the man. He kept weaving in between buildings to avoid capture, even changing routes via the subway and sewer systems. Hours past and still the NYPD worked tirelessly to catch the fore mentioned psychopath. They’d managed to corner him in an apartment construction zone, where he allegedly ducked into the framework of the lofts. 

Gil wasn’t at the scene, and Dani and JT were on their way when Bright called them. 

They had lost an officer. 

Gil grimaced even thinking about the details. It’s something the people of New York will overlook; another cop shot in the line of duty. Protecting the citizens and doing his job. He will be greatly missed. But that’s all the news will cover. They won’t mention how Alonzo was a father of two and a husband. They won’t mention the emotional toll losing part of their staff will take on his station. They will only ask for the thoughts and prayers of strangers. 

It’s been hours since they announced Alonzo’s death. He was shot through the neck, his windpipe shattered, blood staining the sidewalk where he took his final breath. 

Edrisa had said he didn’t suffer long. That he’d died in a matter of minutes. There was nothing anyone could have done. 

“There is _always_ something that can be done,” Malcolm had said bitterly, earning the attention of both the lieutenant and the medical examiner. Gil didn’t like the numb glint in Bright’s eyes. It reminded him too much of how the kid looked when he was younger and still reeling from the trauma his father put him through. “Something can _always_ be done.” 

And just like that, the profiler had left the two in the lab in suffocating silence. 

The team had split up entirely to cover more ground. It was effective and gave each member time to process the incident. JT had gone to write up a  _ long  _ accident report from home. Dani had left with a few other of Alonzo’s close coworkers to break the news to his family. Gil had covered the brief press conference, telling the very minimal details needed, then returned to his small office to keep an eye on Bright. 

Malcolm hadn’t said much other than the phone call he made earlier and the cold comment he made in the medical lab. Gil kept note of the profiler’s actions as he went about his own business, which was mostly answering calls from other department heads and clearing up the confusion from the past few hours. 

Everything was a mess.  _ Bright was a mess.  _

This killer has toyed with the kid for weeks now, leaving him leads that go nowhere and strange murders with little to no evidence to go off of. After he got away at the scene, Malcolm spent a solid twenty-five minutes chasing him on foot until he finally lost their suspect. Dani had chased after him in a PD issued car and drove him back to the station, a sweaty, disheveled mess. 

Gil wasn’t the only one worried about their boy. Dani was freaked out after spending nearly forty-five minutes in complete silence with Bright on the drive back from the scene. He’s never completely silent, she told him once Malcolm had locked himself in the interrogation room. Gil could see the tension in the room after Dani took off with the team of officers and social workers. He could see the frustration and guilt eating away at everyone. 

Especially Bright. 

It took Gil a few minutes to finally work up the nerve to approach his son, who frustratingly glared down at the same background check. He didn’t even acknowledge Gil’s presence until the lieutenant cleared his throat awkwardly. Bright flinched, looking up with his exhausted, bloodshot eyes. He made a half-assed attempt to properly sit up, only to slump over again out of lack of effort. 

Gil tried to smile, but he knew he couldn’t sell his fake enthusiasm to a goddamn profiler. Much less one who knows him like the back of his hand. “Hey, kid. How about a break?”

Malcolm shook his head, resting his face in his hand, his elbow propped up on the table. Gil tried again. He’ll never stop trying to pull the kid out of the pit of misery he always falls into upon these situations. 

“Why don’t we take a walk? Or you can lay down in my office?”

Malcolm inhales sharply, shielding his face with his hands. “I’m fine, Gil.”

“Just take a breather, okay. Five-minute break at the  _ least-- _ ”

Malcolm shot up from his chair, the plastic seat clattering against the wall behind him. He breathed outward like he was trying to control himself from screaming, or breaking down, or both. His hand tremored despite having both his arms wound tightly around him. He looked angry and vulnerable. Both equally harmful for a person of Malcolm’s mental stabilities. 

“I just--  _ I just need to solve this, _ ” He muttered. “I’m  _ staying  _ here until I solve this.”

Gil sighed. “Bright, listen to me. Legally, I have to send you home in thirty minutes, and you cannot take confidential case files back to your bachelors’ loft either. You need to go home and  _ rest.  _ Okay?”

Malcolm scoffed, throwing his hands around in disbelief. “That’s  _ not  _ happening, Arroyo. I’m staying here, and I’m solving this case.”

Gil could see the pent up anger growing inside of the profiler’s mind, whirling around like a hurricane. He could feel his own frustration taking form, but he willed this conversation not go that far. He rarely lost his patience with Bright, and it oftentimes it wasn’t even Malcolm’s fault. It was usually just the weeks worth of pent up aggravation coming out at the wrong person. He remembers sparking fights with Jackie over little things like the dishes in their sink or Ainsely’s math homework. Everyone had their limits. 

Gil just hoped Malcolm wouldn’t push him to his. 

“Kid, seriously. I know today was tough, it was tough on everyone.  _ But-- _ ” 

“But  _ what,  _ Gil?” Malcolm seethed. “I let the killer get away and now Alonzo is dead. He’s dead because  _ I wasn’t fast enough!  _ You don’t have to live with that on your conscious for the rest of your life.”

“Bright, I still have to acknowledge that one of my officers died today. I can’t forget that. I still feel guilt just like you. But that still doesn’t change the fact that you still need to take care of yourself.”

Malcolm glared holes in the whiteboard covered in suspect information and evidence. Gil took his place beside him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Just let me take you home, Mal. I promise we can get right back on this in the morning.”

When dealing with anyone remotely similar to the Whitley’s, what needs to be understood is how stubborn they are. 

“I. Am. Not.  _ Leaving. _ ”

The profiler shrugged aggressively out of Gil’s touch, shielding away as he paced back to the table covered in case reports. Only Gil knows how much his kid is really hurting right now. He had a major fight with his mother just a few days after Eve left him. Apparently, the only Whitely willing to talk to the profiler is Martin, and nothing good can ever come of that. 

Malcolm was heartbroken by his ex-girlfriend, shunned by his mother and sister, and is now taking on all of the guilt and remorse from the day’s events. 

Gil has to guess that if they continue down this path, the kid is sure to snap eventually. 

And if he’s not careful, Gil might just as well. 

“I’m serious, kid. If you aren’t ready to leave in five minutes--”

“Leave.”

Malcolm’s tone short-circuited what Gil was going say, stunning him silent. “W-What?”

The profiler gripped at his hair, a familiar stress signal he’s used since he was young. Tension built as he tugged on his hair fibers, clenching his teeth together like stone against stone. His hands let go of the hazelnut locks, flailing downward before smashing into the wooden surface of the table. 

“I said  _ leave, _ ” Malcolm shouted. “Leave me alone, leave me just like Eve did. Leave me, Gil! Do it! Just  _ fuck off! _ ”

The lieutenant’s head jerked backward, his lungs void of air. “ _ Get the hell out of my precinct, _ ” Gil growled, his teeth clenched in frustration. “Get out and  _ stay out _ ! I don’t want to see you back here until tomorrow!”

“I’m working on a theory. A theory that could catch our killer! One that will bring him to justice--”

Gil angrily paced back towards the doorway. “We cannot pursue anything until tomorrow.”

“This is our chance to catch Alonzo’s murderer!” Malcolm hollered, pointing at the bloody crime scene photos. “Why are you fighting me on this? This is  _ your  _ job! We’re supposed to be out there, tracking him down!”

Gil lost it. 

“Are you trying to piss off everyone in your life?  _ Huh _ ? Save yourself the trouble and get  _ fucking  _ lost before I take you off the case!” 

Gil didn’t even notice his erratic pointing motion towards the door until his hand grazed the door frame. All he noticed was the cold, dead silence in the air. Malcolm’s eyes now locked with his, the cold, gray flint-like irises piercing their gaze. Both were breathing erratically, the air in their lungs seemingly stollen by their anger. 

Malcolm grunted as he stormed past Gil, pain and mistaken devastation rolling off of him like waves in the ocean. Gil only wishes he hadn’t snapped. He wishes he could have just helped Malcolm, bring him down from his anger and ease away his demons. 

But he couldn’t. 

Because Bright was already out of the precinct, slamming the door behind him in his fit of anger. 

Gil’s had his fair share of Bright pushing him away. There are hardships to every relationship. That’s how they work. The first time was hell. It had only been a few months after The Surgeon’s arrest and Malcolm still hadn’t said anything. He had only just begun to live with Jackie and Gil when he started his avoidant and destructive behavior. He skipped meals, barely slept at all, but worst of all, he acted as if no one was there. 

Gil didn’t want Bright to  _ ever _ feel like that again. 

There was no way Malcolm was feeling loved right now. Not after Eve and his mother and his sister. Not after what Gil said. 

The lieutenant groaned, shoving his cracked palms into his eyes as he refrained from going after his son. Both of them needed space. Space to calm down, to gather their thoughts. Especially after the day they’ve had. 

Gil pulled himself away from the door frame, his shoes clicking against the tiles on the floor as he observed the whiteboard. Nothing much had changed, except for a few small details the profiler must have added. There were a few more sticky notes scattered around but other than that, all of the information seemed up to date. 

Whatever Bright was working on, he must have been working out of the case file and the witness reports. There was no way the only thing he got done was writing chicken scratch on a sticky note. He was working in there for hours. 

Gil turned to the messy table, looking to find the tan case file. He flipped through piles of papers and turned over numerous false lead files. He searched under the table and in the filing drawers. There was no sign of the official report file. 

But it didn’t take a lot of brainpower to figure out where his folder may have gone. 

Gil sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “ _ Dammit _ , kid.” 

It was a matter of ten minutes before Gil packed up and locking down the precinct for the night. No one was needed back for another few hours. All available officers were spread thin across Manhattan actively on the hunt for their pleasure killer. He knew the only reason he would need to come back would be to drop off the file Malcolm took. But Gil doubts he’ll be bringing the kid back in until tomorrow at the least, let alone tonight. 

He shut off all the lights, closed all the doors, and locked all files pertaining to confidential information. Standard procedures, but Gil likes to make sure his station isn’t a mess before leaving for the night. It usually isn’t, but he isn’t normally the last to leave. Tonight, however, a particular profiler kept him around a little longer. 

Malcolm’s outburst left Gil feeling astray, lonely even. The kid just shot up and disappeared. He even left his expensive waistcoat hanging on the coat rack in Gil’s office. It was nearly thirty degrees out and his son is out wondering New York in freezing weather looking for a killer. 

Gil’s head hurts knowing that the situation doesn’t surprise him. 

The icy weather outside only whispered to the lieutenant on his way out to his car. He had to hurry. There was no way anyone as skinny and emotionally unstable as Bright should be wandering around at night with a day’s worth of police business on his mind. The lieutenant tossed his computer bag and Malcolm’s coat in the front seat before taking off towards Park Avenue. He knew where he would find the kid. 

He knows where Malcolm goes when he needs space to breathe. Even if Gil contributed to his fiery burst, he knows the kid will always find comfort in their old stakeout spot. 

Halfway between the Bronx and Manhattan on Park Avenue. 

Usually pretty calm both during the day and at night, Park Avenue was the stakeout Gil ever took his Jr. profiler. He knew it would be safe. There was no one around since they always had surveillance on the outskirts of the Bronx and Manhattan. The only action Gil ever got on Park Avenue was a DUI, but Malcolm wasn’t with him then. 

The NYPD hadn’t caught The Surgeon yet. 

Gil drove, listening to the gruff hum of the Lemans as he searched for the familiar street lamp in the distance. There was always something peaceful about the stretch of road between the two major counties. The city had planted these beautiful cherry blossom trees along the sidewalks right above the benches. He and Malcolm would sit there for hours when the poor kid couldn’t sleep. It always helped that Gil was just a phone call away. Gil remembers all the nights Jackie stayed up, waiting for them to get home. She’d lug them over to the couch and pick the pink flower petals out of Malcolm’s hoodie. 

Gil wished the trees bloomed this time of year. Maybe it would help take away some of the tension in his aching shoulders. 

If the trees had been their usual bright pink, or if the night sky had been clear, Gil would have missed the hunched, shaking figure on the bench closest to the small memorial park. He slammed on the brake and pulled into the closest parking spot. He turned off the ignition and grabbed the profiler’s jacket before jumping out of the driver’s side door. He slammed the door shut in a hurry, rushing over to Malcolm’s side in an instant. 

All of his anger from earlier had since disintegrated into shame. Gil knows how much the poor kid is hurting. He shouldn’t have yelled. 

Gil’s stomach plummeted when he heard his son’s soft cries as he approached the worn city bench. Whether it was the temperature or all of the mental exhaustion from the week making Malcolm shake, it sure as hell didn’t help the situation. The profiler hid his face in his hands, sobbing almost silently so no one would hear him. It’s New York for God’s sake! No one would ask why he was crying. They likely wouldn’t even bat an eye.

“ _ Mal… _ ” Gil whispered, kneeling in front of the disheveled profiler. “Hey, kid-- Come on, look at me for a sec.”

Malcolm shook his head swiftly, the back and forth motion only bringing him back into another harsh sobbing fit. Gil stood up from where he was situated in front of Malcolm, his knees cracking as he stood. He sat beside his son on the bench, the wood creaking under both their weight. It never used to creak when they came here on stakeouts. Then again, Malcolm was smaller then, and Gil had been considered on the thinner side of most cops his age. 

Gil placed his hand on the scruff of Bright’s neck, his eyes softening as Malcolm’s breathing hitched. “Deep breathes, alright. Deep breaths, Malcolm.”

The profiler made a fruitless attempt to stop the commotion, only seemingly making things worse. “ _ I… I  _ can’t, G-Gil. M’sorry, I r-ruined the case f-file.” 

Gil sighed, pulling the quaking boy into a side hug as more tears fell down his slim facial features. “Kid, don’t worry about the file right now. Okay? Don’t worry about anything but yourself for now.” 

“T-The file got w-wet. Dropped it in-- in a p-puddle.”

Gil gripped the expensive coat in his hand and tossed it around Malcolm, the fabric hanging loosely around his shoulders. Malcolm’s sorrow was drowned when he hid his face in the warmth of the jacket, curling up away from the outside. 

They sat there for God knows how long. Just the two of them. Malcolm’s shaking died down when the warm feeling finally returned to his limbs. His tears dried up, but he didn’t shy away from the lieutenant. Gil took it as a win in his book. 

Gil cleared his throat, hoping he could get Malcolm to sit up and look at him. The kid took the hint and sat up reluctantly. But he had yet to make eye contact with him. He dodged away from Gil’s eyes and instead, stared down at the damp concrete. 

Gil cuffed the back of Malcolm’s neck comfortingly, his worry slowly tapering off. His worry over Bright would never fully disappear. It’s a twenty-four-hour cycle. He strangely only ever worries about the kid when he’s on his own or chasing criminals around the city. 

Gil was concerned. Not angry. Never angry with Bright. He just lost it back at the precinct. That wasn’t anger. It was  _ concern _ . 

“Hey, kid,” Gil whispered, waiting for Malcolm to make some sort of an acknowledgment. Slowly but surely, Bright came around, his broken, blue-eyed gaze connecting with Gil’s. Malcolm used to never make eye contact, especially after his father’s arrest. He worked hard to break the habit. Gil’s just glad he could always pull the kid out of falling into it again. It made the lieutenant smile softly. “Let’s get you back home. It’s freezing out here.”

Malcolm nodded in agreement, but his face deterred his actions. “I’m s-sorry.”

Gil shook his head, pulling away from his son to ease him upright. “It’s alright, no sorry’s. We both yelled, but we’re fine now, right?”

Once Malcolm was standing, he nodded. It was small, but it showed that he understood. Their walk to the car would have been shorter if their legs weren’t frozen stiff and Gil hadn’t accidentally locked the passenger side door. His fingers were frozen just from sitting out on the bench for fifteen minutes. He couldn’t imagine how the kid must be feeling. 

Gil had finally managed to wrangle his keys out of his pocket and unlock the car door, to which Bright was visibly grateful for. He ungracefully yanked the Lemans door open, shuffling inside despite the way his limbs failed to cooperate. Gil was already in and helping the frozen profiler settle in while the heat kicked on at full blast. They sat there, both sniffling for different reasons, while the car engine shook their seats. 

While Gil tried to focus on defrosting his son, Malcolm was still unsettlingly quiet. It didn’t go unnoticed by the lieutenant, but he wanted to get the blood flowing in Bright’s fingers before he bombarded him with his fatherly worry. A quiet Bright is worse than an angry Bright. At least when Malcolm lashes out he’s expressing how he feels. 

When he’s quiet, his brain is usually on overdrive, thoughts spiraling around in his mind like a tornado. 

Gil waited patiently for the profiler to gain a grip on his senses and calm down before he began talking. He was obviously trying to stop shivering, but between the emotional turmoil and the psychedelic tremor, there was no way his body was going to quit trembling. Plus, his suit was drenched in the freezing rain from earlier, which clearly wasn’t helping him get any warmer. 

Suddenly, it clicked. Gil’s eyes wondered from his freezing son, out beyond the dashboard, and down the dimly lit Park Avenue. 

They were only about five minutes from Stacy’s Twenty-Four. He could send Bright into the bathroom to change into the extra clothes from his car while he orders their favorite hot drinks. It’s a  _ perfect  _ idea. 

“Hey, Mal?” Gil asked, his hand gently rested on his son’s damp neck. “Why don’t we head down to Stacy’s for a little? You can get changed out of that suit and into the clothes you left in the trunk. Then we can get you a peppermint hot chocolate and settle down for a while. Get warmed up. Does that sound okay?”

It was small, but Malcolm finally smiled. He  _ smiled.  _ For the first time in what seemed like weeks, he  _ smiled.  _

“Just like old times?”

Gil chuckled. “Just like old times, kid.”

The lieutenant pulled the stick into reverse, backing out of the space into the main street. Stacy’s was just in the downtown district of Manhattan. It wasn’t all that far. That’s part of the reason Gil loved it so much. 

Before Malcolm and the Surgeon and Jackie, Gil stopped into Stacy’s after patrol almost every night. He discovered it late at night on one of his stakeout routes. It was the only coffee shop he knew that was open twenty-four-seven  _ and  _ served raspberry scones. Gil liked to think he avoided the whole stereotypical donut-cop idea by eating scones instead. 

He grew attached to the little shop, finding it as a safe space for not only him but Malcolm as well. During stakeouts, they’d stop in to grab a bite to eat and something to drink, often taking a seat on the brown, leather sofas. The barista knew their orders by heart, but Gil doubts she still works there. It’s been a while since he’s even driven down Park Avenue, let alone even visited Stacy’s.

The drive was quiet, aside from Malcolm’s teeth chattering and the squeak from the brakes every time Gil came to a red light. Gil could tell the profiler was grateful to see the soft glow of the red, fluorescent coffee house sign in the distance. His facial muscles relaxed and his self-protective grip around himself loosened as the Lemans rolled up outside the shop. 

Gil put the car in park, listening as it _clinked_ into gear before turned to face Bright with a reassuring smile on his face. “Come on, kid. The sooner we get you warm, the sooner we can get you home.”

Malcolm stiffly nodded, cracking open the car door only to wince at the freezing temperature outside. Gil hurried out to the trunk to grab the orange duffle bag with Bright’s spare set of gym clothes. He always knew it would be smart for the kid to have an extra set of clothes seeing as though he’s always covered in some sort of grime. Gil got used to carrying around some extra essentials to make Malcolm’s life a little more comfortable. He always keeps some of the profiler’s medications on hand, and the affirmation cards are a good way to cheer him up. 

Although today an affirmation card wouldn’t have been enough to prevent the raging emotions and tragic outcome of the police standoff. 

Nothing could have prevented that. 

Gil shook off the memory, remembering he still had to get Malcolm thawed out, and at the expense of hot peppermint chocolate. He swiftly snagged the bag from the trunk, pulled the drawstring bag closed to keep all the clothing contents inside. The lieutenant nearly slipped speed walking to the red, worn door, but he was internally grateful Malcolm had already found himself inside. 

Opening the door to  _ Stacy’s  _ was like opening up a time capsule from the past.  _ Any  _ part of his past. A wave of nostalgia hit Gil with the force of a thousand tiny hornets, bliss stinging his senses as the familiar ring of the bell by the door rang out. 

He opened his eyes, breathing in the sweet scent of cinnamon and musty cookbooks. It would have been a bittersweet moment if Malcolm hadn’t abruptly swiped the bag from his hand before bolting off towards the restrooms. The desperation in his actions made it clear how cold the profiler must be. 

“Detective Arroyo?” 

Gil knew that voice anywhere. He turned to the red-haired barista behind the ancient wooden counters of the expresso bar, a smile blooming upon his face. “Macy Walters?”

Her grin sparked the ever-existing remembrance of old memories. She was only a sophomore when Gil started making routine coffee rounds during his patrol hours. Macy knew Gil’s order after two weeks of consistent drink stops, then learned Malcolm’s order even quicker. After years and years of making lattes and baking scones, Gil would have thought she’d be off to college by now. 

Gil was speechless. “I-- I can’t believe you still work here. I thought for sure I wasn’t going to see many familiar faces. It’s been, what? Ten years?”

“Twelve, but close enough,” Macy laughed, pulling two tall cups out from under the counter. “I’m guessing your still up for your usual? Peppermint hot cacao with extra whipped cream?”

“ _ Yes!  _ Yes, please. My hands are half-frozen-- a cup of  _ Stacy’s Classic Cacao  _ should do the trick.”

The barista smiled, writing down the order on the side of one of the cups. “And for Malcolm, based on his shivering and darkened eye bags, something hot and caffeine-free for him?”

Gil nodded graciously, rifling through his pocket for his wallet. Macy would have made a good detective. She was able to pick up on Bright’s moods almost instantly when he and Gil would stop in. She even had drinks waiting for them for the days when business was heavy. Macy was always kind and generous, even paid for Gil’s orders every now and then. She opened up her heart to Malcolm, the son of the Surgeon, made him feel welcome. 

Gil can pay her back for the on-the-house orders, but no amount of money can express how thankful he is for the way she treated Malcolm. 

Macy was a good one. She always has been. 

The sound of the bathroom door swinging open pulled Gil from memory lane. The profiler wondered out with the orange duffle bag hanging over his shoulder, dressed in a pair of joggers and a loose, jet blake tee. His casual red hoodie clung to his frame, the simple clothing attire warming his heart. He looked  _ significantly  _ more stable than earlier. 

Macy smiled at him from her place behind the mounds of baked goods on display. “It’s been too long, boys. For both of you… Malcolm, you’ve even got stubble! Where has the time gone?”

Bright smirked, chuckling at the light commentary. Even after twelve years, Macy never fails to bring a smile to his face. “I suppose it  _ has  _ been a while,” Malcolm said, taking a seat on a barstool, folding his hands together on top of the glazed wooden surface. He peaked over the counter like he’d done when he was younger. His expression melted, and Gil could see the emotional glow in his eyes when he realized she still knew his order. 

She spun around on her heels, placing the drinks on the bar surface with a smile plastered on her face. “A tall  _ Stacy’s Classic Cacao  _ for Gil and a tall caffeine-free chai tea latte for Malcolm.”

“Thank you, Mace, seriously. You are amazing.”

Malcolm  _ hmm’d  _ in agreement, sipping on the latte while his body untensed dramatically. Gil paid, even though Macy insisted it was fine. Gil stuck the twenty in her tip jar when she turned to wipe off the coffee machine. 

“ _ Well-- _ I have to start a batch of blueberry raisin oat bars for the old folk who come wondering in every morning. Just shout when you two are heading out. I want a proper goodbye, uh… Sergent? 

Gil chuckled. “Lieutenant.”

“Congratulations,  _ Lieutenant  _ Arroyo.”

She pitched the wet rag in the sink before turning towards the door to the kitchen, her ankle-high black Converse shoes squeaking against the tile. Macy must have known something was up just based on the way Malcolm had burst through the front door earlier, a shivering and semi-catatonic mess. She saw what a little bit of good can do for the profiler, and she knows when some privacy is needed. 

Gil clasped his hand over the profiler’s shoulder, similar to how he would comfort the kid when he was younger. “You alright?”

Malcolm nodded, his bright pale eyes finally connecting with Gil’s. “I’m sorry about earlier. I… I don’t know what happened there. I just freaked out, I’m sorry.”

“Drink your tea before it goes cold, kid. No more apologies.”

The profiler took another sip of his latte, his face still contorted with doubt. “I still feel terrible.”

Gil only smiled, gently moving his hand from Bright’s shoulder to the scruff of his neck. There was still going to be hurt, hurt, and anger, and  _ pain _ . There will always be fights, but there is so much more time for healing. Malcolm’s hurt will never stop, but neither will his healing. 

There will always be room to heal. 

**Author's Note:**

> Leave comments and kudos! They never go unnoticed, and I get all warm and fuzzy when people leave comments. 
> 
> Question of the day: What is your favorite angst prompt?
> 
> (For a little future referencing, hint hint)


End file.
